


Mordred Lives a Life of Never-Ending Misery ft. Excalibur Vivian

by Hatsage7



Series: Mordred and Saberfaces [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Gen, I don't know what else to put here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsage7/pseuds/Hatsage7
Summary: Mordred has problems with the king of the beach. She discovers a new one when Artoria falls into a river.
Relationships: Mordred | Saber of Red & Artoria Pendragon | Archer
Series: Mordred and Saberfaces [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881649
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Mordred Lives a Life of Never-Ending Misery ft. Excalibur Vivian

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing a series where i put Mordred & Artoria(s) into mortal peril: hey did you know that Archer Artoria canonically can't swim :). that seems very :) very :) interesting :)))))). what do you all think

Mordred had been trying to be more careful with the way she used the word “hate”. The world wasn’t black and white; she didn’t benefit from thinking the way she had when she was alive, and constantly fighting. Actively correcting those thoughts was something she tried to do as often they sprang up.

She would have once said that she “hated” her father and the other knights of the Round Table, which certainly wasn’t true! She might have still… resented her father, but only certain aspects of her. She both was mostly fine with her memory of her and the person(s) she currently was! She merely disliked knights like Gawain, Lancelot, and… the other Guy… intensely.

She didn’t “hate” Spriggans, she just thought that they were a pain in the ass to fight; 

she didn’t “hate” dealing with poison, she just thought it was irritating, cowardly, and dangerous; 

she didn’t “hate” when Boudica got all motherly, it just made her _really_ fucking uncomfortable; 

she didn’t “hate” when the red archer tried to encourage her to talk to her father or substitute good, wholesome, filling food with “healthier dishes” or “spices”, it just didn’t taste as good (even if it was still pretty good food) and was annoying;

she didn’t “hate”...

Alright, there were a lot of things she didn’t hate, and just had really strong, vaguely angry feelings for. And _maybe_ an alarming amount of them revolved around other Servants (and/or fighting or emotional intimacy with people who weren’t Fran).

Regardless -- it was important for her to keep in mind that she didn’t hate her Master for forcing her to party with the version of her father summoned as the Archer Servant, nor even her father herself. She just… 

“Aha! Another enemy falls to the king of the beach! That should teach them not to judge a book by its cover, eh? Excalibur Vivian strikes once again!”

...she did hate that they were partied together.

The Archer wasn’t insulting, or dismissive, or annoying, or… anything but pleasant and cheerful towards Mordred, really. Summer servants had all had their brains baked in the sun, and were upbeat and peppy, with all the baggage of their bloody histories smoothed over.

(It was a version of her father who barely held her treachery against her, and she had no idea how to feel about her. Don’t even fucking ask about her _own_ summer form -- fuck.)

If Mordred was forced to choose the version of her father that she least wanted to fight alongside, or with, it would be the easy-going woman in the swimsuit. They weren’t the same class, they didn’t have very compatible skills (though Master disagreed), absolutely incompatible Noble Phantasms (which Master couldn’t disagree with), and to make things worse, they couldn’t rely on a third party member to bridge the gap, because Six servants -- an Archer and a Saber, a Rider and an Assassin, a Lancer and Mash had been paired up and sent out to scout a new Singularity for farming purposes -- for who _knows_ what reason.

  
  
  
  
  


Mordred whirled around to snarl at the Archer. “Listen here, you --”

Artoria’s eyes went wide. She lunged forward and shoved Mordred to the ground. She thought she was attacking her, and her hand went for Clarent as she stumbled backwards --

Artoria fired, and powerful bursts of water shot past Mordred to the treeline, striking an Arm of Dawn blazing with an unusually brilliant light. As expected, the divine, pressurized shots of water quenched the hellfire powering the enemy, and it began dissolving into so much dark smoke.

But not before a ball of that same hellfire was cast over Mordred’s body and into Artoria’s exposed chest.

She gasped, clearly in pain, and was sent rolling backwards by the sheer force of the explosion. It looked for a moment as if she might fall far enough to topple off the edge of the cliff, before she sank her sword into the dirt and stopped firmly in place.

The Archer was at an awkward angle, the momentum having twisted her body away from Mordred and the taut, outstretched arm gripping the hilt of the legendary sword. She struggled to turn around and get up on one knee, breathing heavily with the effort. She winced, then placed a hand on her chest, which began to shine with greenish-white light. When it stopped, the scorched flesh left from the fireball had faded into a few faint, errant marks of black.

Artoria huffed. She looked back at Mordred and shot her a lopsided smile, as if to tell her that everything was alright now.

And then the thin earth beneath her gave way, and she began to fall.

Mordred’s eyes went wide. “Shit -- hey!” She scrambled to her feet, lunging forward, but she was far too late. Her father was already plummeting below the lip of the crumbling cliff, hand wrapping around air as she dove to the ground to try to save her. The Archer just… stared up at her with wide eyes, a look of mild shock on her face, as if she was merely surprised that she seemed to be falling.

Mordred lay on the ground for a moment, watching her father get smaller and smaller, getting closer to hitting the river below. She felt terrible; once again, she had failed, and once again --

Wait. River?

She blinked, and sure enough, the king of the beach hit the river with a quiet splash and a small burst of water.

Mordred crawled away from the edge and fell onto her back panting heavily, breath shaky. “Fuck. Thank God,” she said under her breath, “she’ll be fine. Thank god.”

There was some commotion behind her. Her adrenaline was through the fucking _roof_ right now, and her hand went to Clarent as she rolled to the side and popped up on one knee, wielding the sword with two hands to drive it up and into whoever came after her.

It was just her master, in that _stupid_ orange shirt that happened to match her hair and tan. Fujimaru immediately held her hands up in surrender, used to dealing with Servants who had a tendency to let their Madness Enhancement go too far, or who were just assholes with couldn't handle their trauma. Mordred supposed she knew which category she fell into.

She sighed, slowly getting to her feet, dusting off her armor, and slinging Clarent over her shoulder. “Fucking… kinda a day late and a dollar short here, Master.”

Seeing that Mordred wasn’t immediately in the mood to kill people, Fujimaru began scanning the area, as Mash came skidding to a halt behind her with that giant shield of hers. “Master! Mordred! What’s going on? We heard noises --”

“Mordred,” Ritsuka said in an even voice, coughing awkwardly into her hand, “where’s Artoria?” She was looking at her with an uncomfortably piercing gaze, and Mash suddenly looked _immensely_ apprehensive (which was fair, but, c’mon, Mordred had surely earned _some_ credit by now).

“She saved my ass from a hand that decided to gank us. Was pretty sure they _couldn’t_ do that, but…” She gestured at the patch of freshly broken cliff behind her. “Instead of letting me take the hit, the dumbass pulled its focus, took the git, and fell off the cliff. Luckily, there’s a river down there, so we just need to follow it and pick her up… still, it’s kind of a waste of time.” She shrugged, trying to affect nonchalance, since clearly the situation was nothing to get worked up about.

“WHAT!?” Master shouted at the top of her lungs, clearly worked up. She sprinted over to the edge, nearly tumbling off the side.

Mordred’s arms were around her in an instant, holding her back before Mordred realized what she was doing. “Master, what the fuck? She’s _fine!_ The water’s _really_ calm, and there aren’t any rocks or shit that I can see." Not that inanimate objects could stop Artoria, even as an Archer. "We can get, uh, Hassan One Hundred to pick her up!”

“Mordred -- she can’t _swim!_ ”

“ _WHAT!?_ ” Mordred’s cry of disbelief was echoed in stereo by Mash behind her. “She’s a fucking _summer Servant!_ How -- _the fuck_ \-- can she not swim!?”

“She’s not -- sh-she never learned how to swim in life! She plays with water guns, she’s not a swimmer or surfer like -- !” Her train of thought screeched to a halt. She struggled to look over her shoulder at Mordred. “Mordred. Please.”

Mordred felt herself freeze. She peered over the edge, and sure enough, there wasn’t even a hint of blond hair peeking up above the water. 

“...shit.” Mordred released her master and began walking away from the edge of the cliff.

Mash was distraught. “M-Mordred!”

Ritsuka spoke up. “It’s okay, Mash.” Mordred kept walking for a moment, then turned around to see a placid, totally unworried look on her Master’s face.

“Smug… damn… tch.” She looked back towards the crumbled section of cliff. She took a deep breath, and then began to run.

Strength in her legs had her kicking up dirt like a warhorse, and in fewer strides than heartbeats, she was leaping out into thin air.

Had she been on a field, she would have been able to clear a layer of spears, a shield wall, a moat. She soared 20, maybe 30 meters before she started to fall, and maybe another 50 meters before she finally hit the water.

Mordred cut into the water like a knife, diving down and slamming into the loose, sucking silt of the riverbed. It was a deep river, so thankfully she hadn’t actually hurt herself. Still, feet were stuck fast in the mud. She jerked them out quickly, then swam upwards, careful to stay under the water.. Her plan was to swim slowly downstream, scanning to find her father… 

As luck would have it, the archer was just a little downstream of her, apparently “trapped” at the bottom of the river.

Her father noticed her, waved as though they were friends passing each other in the street and _not_ in moderate danger, and pointed down to her legs, one covered in traces of dirt, the other calf-deep in mud.

She sighed. The stream of beleaguered bubbles flew up to the surface.

She swam up to the Archer, diving a little lower to forcefully yank her leg out of the silt. She wrapped her arm around the other’s waist, and using just the one arm and kicking her legs, began to swim in the direction of the bubbles up towards the light.

The two broke the surface of the water, both of them gasping for air. She took a moment to look around, judging the best place to get out of the fucking river. The bank on the right-hand side was muddy, and led back into more forest. It was a better choice than the gravel and clay next to the steeper cliff on the left.

Mordred threw her father out of the water -- _threw_ her, as the bank was still several feet away -- before swimming out herself, the current carrying her a little further downstream. She trudged shakily onto solid ground again.

Her father coughed up a bit of water. She could hear that she was huffing and puffing nearly as much as she herself was. She stumbled over to where she lay flat on her back.

“How’re ya doing, king of the beach.” Mordred spat out. “First, let me ask, are you alright?”

She coughed again, and gave her a shallow smile. “Yes, Mordred, thanks to you.”

“You’re sure? You’re talking to me, which is good, but you didn’t hit your head, or anything? Can you count to five -- if you could manage that _before_ you fell off a cliff?”

“One, two, three, four… ffffffive? Goodness, is that right? I don’t quite feel like lifting up my hands to double-check my fingers.” Artoria chuckled.

“Mm. Good enough for me.” She reached out, hand hovering over her father. The woman took it, began to sit up -- and then Mordred _decked her_ in the jaw.

She was punching with her left, not her right, and she didn’t put her full weight behind it, but it was _still_ a Saber’s strength behind an armored fist. Artoria hit the damp dirt pretty hard.

“Why the _fuck_ can’t you _SWIM!?_ ” She tamped down on any feelings of sympathy and instead took a sharp turn into rage. “You know _Gawain!?_ The dude who weighs 200 kilos out of armor, as much as a truck soaking wet? Fucker can swim for hours in full armor! Maybe even a full _day!_ And _he’s_ not the most famous king of all -- _fucking_ \-- _TIME!_ ”

Artoria struggled to her elbows, rubbing her jaw and groaning. “You seem… argh, upset, for some reason.”

Mordred bit down on a guttural snarl building in her throat, merely growling. “Why -- the fuck --”

“Can’t I swim, yes, good question. I’m pretty sure the answer is only going to make you more angry.”

“I _don’t_ believe you,” Mordred huffed, plopping down beside her father, crossing her legs and hunching over. “We’ve got some time before the others come to pick us up, and I’d like to hear an explanation. Master already knew, _apparently_.”

“Ah, well, there’s no hiding things from her. She’s… intuitive, for a mage.” She got a dreamlike expression on her face. “Hmmm. In any case… did you know when I was alive, I had a handful of blessings from the fae folk?”

Mordred blinked. She was in for another round of fucking storytime, it seemed. "I didn’t, but it’s not surprising. I, uh… wouldn’t Lancelot have the lion’s share of those blessings…?”

“Indeed! That’s why Excalibur broke the first time we fought, when I nearly killed him."

“... wait, what?”

“One thing at a time! You're not getting _that_ story today." She chuckled and then rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "If I recall correctly… Lancelot was blessed with some gifts to conceal his identity -- ha, like your helm, I suppose! -- and a few others that I can’t recall, but that I seem to remember him telling me had nothing to do with his skill as a knight. I was blessed with several more than even him, which is saying something.”

Artoria closed her eyes as she thought back. “Let me see… the first is called Help, to comfort grief, lessen pain, and cure sickness. That’s still part of my Beach House Protection EX, I believe! The others… argh, they’re so hard to remember. Some have to do with protection, to protect my men in battle, to protect me in battle, to protect against curses for, you know, Morgan reasons… love charms, which the fae seemed to universally agree I needed… more water blessings? I might be confusing that with baptismal rites. Oh -- and the most relevant one: I could walk on water!”

“...oooof course you could,” Moredred said, deadpan. “Ruler of England, King of Knights, holier-than-thou can walk on water.”

“Yep! Or, I was able to do that in life. Most of those blessings disappeared on my death, or were incorporated into my other skills as a Heroic Spirit. So, I never _had_ to learn to swim, since there was never any need -- or, more realistically, any situation where I could get wet.”

“Phrasing like _that_ might be why the fairies thought you needed help with your sex life,” Mordred said without thinking. She _immediately_ regretted it, and scrambled to change the topic. “So -- what? You never learned to swim, so why bother now?”

“Oh, nothing like that! It’s just… it’s a weakness that I couldn’t correct in life. But I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to change so much, from the king of knights into a simple girl. Or, well, a simple girl with a magic sword and water gun. I see no need to get greedy, given that I’ve already grown so much! ...have I said something wrong?”

Mordred realized she looked a little crestfallen. “It’s nothing. M’just a little tired.” She flopped onto her back and closed her eyes.

It sounded like her father was doing something similar beside her. “It’s not that I don’t want to improve. It’s just, what happened in the past… well, it’s all in the past. It doesn’t… argh, I mean, it matters, but… it doesn’t have to -- define who you are. I don’t want to be driven by guilt any more. Am I making sense, Mordred?”

She wanted to say that she didn’t agree. She wanted to say that the past _did_ matter, and people can’t just move on and act like nothing’s happened without talking about it, even if they have changed. She wanted to say that you had to actually apologize to be forgiven, and Artoria was only implying it (and Mordred would never apologize herself). She wanted to say that it wasn’t _greedy_ for her to learn how to swim, or for Mordred to learn how to be a better child, and that Mordred didn’t _like_ that Artoria was _pretending_ to be a “simple girl” when she was still one of the most powerful Heroic Spirits in the world, and that maybe that by actually _trying_ , Master could rely on her more instead of having to babysit someone who couldn’t swim, and Mordred might --

“Whatever,” she said too harshly. “I get what you’re saying. It’s fine. Now shut it and let me enjoy the sun for a while, yeah?”

Her tone clearly left no room for discussion, but Artoria still tried to get the last word. “O-of course. After all, if anyone knows the importance of that, it’s me!” She chuckled weakly. Mordred just grunted, and then there was silence.

The two women lay there for a few minutes, baking in the heat of the sun. It was pleasant, if a little too cool and too humid to be as relaxing as a beach.

Mordred felt a presence looming over her. She bit down on the instinct to fight, and took an educated guess that whoever had been able to get so close to the two of them now wanted them to know they -- or, more probably, _she_ , was there.

“Hey, One Hundred, nice of you to finally show up. Did you go fishing first, maybe take a dip in the river yourself; what took you so long?”

The deep, husky voice of the Assassin answered from above her. “I found the two of you shortly after you emerged from the river. I went back to escort the Master, since she was suddenly lacking a third of her entourage. And I was enjoying the silence, if you must know; I find your voice abrasive.”

“Aww, so you do think about me~. How sweet~.”

She clicked her tongue, kicking a small clod of mud at Mordred. “Dirt on your head. _You_ need to rein in your child.”

“She’s not my child,” Artoria responded evenly. “I’m just a beach bum with a water gun. She’s a knight! I have no authority over her other than as her friend. She saved my life, so if anything, my life debt compels me to let her be as impudent as she likes.”

Mordred felt a little hurt at the Archer’s words despite herself. In no sense did she want this version of her father to recognize her as her heir… and yet… well, whatever. She considered Mordred a friend, at least. 

There was a moment of silence from Hassan. “I did mention to the master that Artoria had the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek. I thought it was likely that she received it from her attack and subsequent fall into the river, or perhaps from when she breached onto the shore.” Another silent pause. “Is that a sufficient retelling, or is more detail required?”

Artoria answered quickly, “No, that seems like everything. I can’t imagine that any details you may have left out will matter very much to Fujimaru…”

“Hey, hold on,” Mordred protested, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re asking if we’re okay with you lying to our Master?”

“It’s not _lying_ if she’s just not telling Master about --”

“I do not _lie_ , especially by omission,” Hassan said with iron in her voice. She had to take a deep breath before speaking again. “I am asking if she needs to be told about what happened _precisely_ , or if what I observed was a perfectly ordinary familial dispute that has since been settled. If telling her would merely add to her worries needlessly, I would prefer to aid her in such a manner by prioritizing what I tell her right away, and what I will tell her if she asks. I do _not_ lie. Not even for you, though I consider you a fine comrade, and especially not for the feral cat who cannot remember my name.”

Artoria actually blushed. “I-I see. Please forgive me for misunderstanding, and if I insulted your honor.”

“You did. You are forgiven easily, and with goodwill, under the circumstances.” She turned back to Mordred, her skull mask betraying no emotion.

“...what?”

“Do _you_ wish for me to tell our Master? I could… emphasize the need for her to act discreetly and suggest avoiding pairing the two of you together again. It would be efficient, if fighting together is too troublesome.” She said the words without judgement, and her tone almost betrayed a concern for Mordred that went beyond unfeeling pragmatism.

Mordred had to think for a moment. Did she want an excuse not to be partied with the summer servant again? She had ended up debatably saving her life, so it’s not as if her Master would think poorly of her… even if she had been angry and stupid enough to actually punch the Archer.

Actually, fuck Fujimaru. Fuck everybody, up to and including the Assassin trying to give her an out. She didn’t need an out! Mordred was a goddamned knight of the round table, she didn’t back down from a fight, even with her own feelings! She had solved those feelings with one punch; that’s just how much of a badass she was!

She spoke with conviction and a fire in her voice. “Don’t you fucking tell me what is and isn’t efficient. If she kept me from fighting alongside everybody I’ve ever hit, insulted, or didn’t get along with, I’d only be allowed to party with Fran. Actually, scratch that -- Fran and I have beat the shit out of each other more than once, even if it was in a friendly way. Not that I’d have a problem being the only Servant on a mission, mind you, but who’d be there to pull hapless idiots like that one out of trouble and/or another river?”

The idiot in question had the nerve to smile, and the miniscule change in Hassan’s posture told Mordred she was making _some_ kind of face under the mask. “As expected. You are a stubborn fool and a glutton for punishment; I would never seek to take either of those away from you.” She leapt back away from the shore, running back to Master and the rest of the party.

“Then don’t ever try to solve a problem for me again, you _Arts_ servant!” Mordred called out after her with a smile on her face, confident in her insult, before laying back down.

Her father tried and failed to suppress a giggle. “Do you have a _problem_ with Arts Servants, Mordred?”

“Yes. Casters are weird, Arts-based Sabers like Lancelot are d’Eon are both French and weird, and also objectively weaker than real Sabers -- the only good one of y’all is Shieldy.”

“Hmm, but isn’t _your_ summer counterpart --”

Mordred sat upright. “My what? Are we talking about that person _now?_ Here? Right next to a river I could throw you into?”

Artoria laughed openly. “Point taken.”

**Author's Note:**

> "jesus, i don't know how to feel about that ending. it seems like Mordred didn't really get closure?"
> 
> MMHMMM. YUP. CHAPTER 2'S COMING.


End file.
